The Filing Cabinet
by pbluekan
Summary: An amalgamation of various stunted story ideas ranging from interludes and omake's for my own stories to fresh but unfinished plot lines to be taken up at a later date. Some are crossovers, some are not.
1. HPxSG:A - Escaping Down the Rabbit Hole

**A/N:** So this will be a collection of my little pot ideas that have been sitting around for a while but haven't really gone anywhere as of yet. Some will be interludes or omakes to my other stories, others will be new plot ideas. If I decide to continue an idea I will remove it from this.

This particular idea started as a HP/stargate crossover that was supposed to bear a likeness to _In Defilade_'s work. It changed a bit into a kind of post-wizarding world kind of thing where magic is essentially gone. I have a few other scenes in mind and a general plot idea and some side plots, but I haven't really written them down effectively.

* * *

><p>Long, glistening raven-black hair, ice-blue eyes, a figure nearly painful in its perfection. <em>She<em> shouldn't be here. _They_ couldn't be here. Not now. Not after so long. The glassy, accusing eyes of the dead demanded retribution.

He followed her down the corridor dodging around techs and military personnel, edging past enormous wrapped palettes. She couldn't get away, he had to know why. Why, why, _why._ All other concerns fled his roiling mind.

There she was just ahead, twenty feet.

Ten feet. The harsh light from the fluorescent lights overhead reflected from her hair like a beacon.

Five feet. "Oz! Hey, Oz!"

_Not now Shep. You don't want to get involved in this._

One foot. He grabbed her right shoulder with his left hand and spun her to the wall. His right hand came up to her throat and pressed her to the cement, just hard enough to hold. _Can't kill her. I need to know _why!

A flash of surprise and fear in her eyes gave way to recognition and ice as they stared at each other.

"Oz what the _fuck!_" Shepard was shouting at him. He could hear the clicks of disengaged safeties. He could feel the eyes and weapons pointed at his back. The crowd around the bubble of military personnel was growing, bubbling with murmurs and questions.

"Why the _hell_ are you here, Greengrass?" He demanded, voice low and tight with restrained fury.

"Potter." Her voice was smooth and husky. Smoke over steel.

"Captain, what is the meaning of this?" The calm coolness of Weir's voice was a distant surprise.

_Then again, I'm sure they knew what they were doing when they picked a diplomat of her caliber._ The inane thought skittered over his boiling temper and was lost as quick as it came.

"I'll ask again. Why. Are. You. Here?"

"Stand down, Captain! Stand down!" Shepard again. Harry could feel the man's hand on his shoulder, pulling back just slightly.

Harry's gaze was pulled away when he was dragged away from the woman in front of him, his arms pinned behind him and zip tied together.

She leaned against the wall as he was pulled back; one arm across her stomach and another hand at her throat.

"Captain!" O'Niell this time. "What in the hell!"

"Bring him to my office. Shepard, go back to prep, make sure the _rest_ your boys are ready, Colonel Caldwell is expecting you at 06:00 tomorrow."

As he was pulled away towards the General's office he heard her whisper a small, simple sentence: "The same reason you are, Potter."

* * *

><p>Earth.<p>

It felt like home.

It _used_ to feel like home.

It _should _have felt like home.

But it didn't.

A year of fear and rage, of disaster and victory had cleansed her of the terrors and scars Earth had left on her soul. _Or maybe it just hid them exceptionally well._ A small voice in the back of her head hissed.

Daphne Mallorie Greengrass stoically followed Elizabeth on their meandering wander of the lower levels of the SGC, her head held high as ever as she once again buried that little voice in the litany of her boss' afternoon "The Major, excuse me, the _Lieutenant Colonel_, has his meeting with his new XO candidate in an hour and a half at 14:30. The IOA _was _requesting your presence up on sublevel 4 for an 'overview of Atlantis' interests and needs.'" She cracked a small smile at Elizabeth's undignified snort. "Carson is requesting you join him in his interviews for medical staff, and apparently there is a-" Daphne was cut off as she was rather violently spun by her right shoulder and then pressed to the wall.

Flashes of grinning ivory masks and pale green monsters with teeth on their palms raced through her mind in an instant before she registered the piercing emerald eyes in the face of the man with his hand around her throat.

_Harry._

"Potter." She wanted to thank him, to weep at his feet for the release he had allowed her. But she couldn't; couldn't bare her scars for the world to see. So she hid herself, as she always had: In smoke and steel.

"Captain, what is the meaning of this?" _As cool and collected as ever Elizabeth. Don't stop him, let him vent. It's the least I can do._

"I'll ask again. Why. Are. You. Here?" _Just running away, Harry, just like you._

"Stand down, Captain! Stand down!" The Lieutenant Colonel was behind Harry now, grabbing at his shoulder and pulling him back for the MP's that had shouldered their way through the crowd to drag him away.

A small whisper escaped her lips as he was dragged off towards the General's office. "The same reason you are, Potter."

* * *

><p>Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard groaned into his hands as another long, sorrowful howl echoed down the passages and pierced the silence blanketing the small mess of the <em>Deadalus<em>. "So walk me through it, Elizabeth, why did General O'Niell sign off on my XO request _after_ said prospect nearly murdered your aide?" He ran his hands back through his hair and at Elizabeth's quirked eyebrow he amended his question. "Not nearly murdered, I suppose." The eyebrow stayed quirked. "It's not that I'm complaining. The man's one of my closest friends," _and he still is, even after this crap, _"but this is _so_ against regs, even for the SGC." Elizabeth opened her mouth but John kept rolling. "I mean, really, the General grabs Potter, Greengrass, and yourself for a four hour pow-wow, and poof, he's along for the ride, even if he's confined to the brig until _Daphne _- not that I have anything against your pretty little assistant - of all people authorizes his release."

"Done?" Elizabeth asked, her eyebrow _still_ quirked and her coffee mug halfway to her lips.

"Yeah, yeah." John mumbled as he took a long sip of his tea.

"Well," Elizabeth started, and then paused to flick her curly brown hair over her shoulder, likely trying to find another way to phrase her previously stilted answer, "you already know that _I_ can't tell you anything. Only the Captain and Daphne are actually authorized for any full disclosure."

John nodded his head. _Yeah I get that, though if I ask Daphne again, she's likely to castrate me._

"Ok, I think I can try to skirt around-"

John wanted to smash his head into the table when Elizabeth immediately cut off at the sound and appearance of Carson Beckett and his Scottish brogue. "Weel, I've sedated th' puir beest. Hopefully Colonel Caldweel will lit heem see th' laddie, but fur noo, we shoods be able tae gie some peace an' quiet." With a sigh the man sat himself at their small table, a third small mug in his hands. The CMO's eyes flicked between John and Elizabeth for a moment at their silence. "Talkin' abit Daphne an' th' Captain's situation 'en?" He asked in a solemn tone.

John surmised that the Scot wasn't supposed to know by Elizabeth's sputtering.

Carson smiled slightly and shot a significant glance at Elizabeth with his quick explanation. "Mah great auntie Minerva taught at their _skale_." He shrugged at John. "Ah cannae gab abit it either."

John grunted and looked back at Elizabeth, who sighed slightly. "Alright, John, alright, but I'd thank you to not let Daphne nor Captain Potter know that I've told you _anything_ until after they choose to tell you." At his nod she continued. Essentially there was a ... terrorist at large in England around the early seventies up until Halloween of '81-"

"A bampot dobber by th' nam ay Tam Riddle."

_What the hell did he just say? _John blinked, dumbfounded, at Carson.

Elizabeth sent a quelling glance Carson's way and continued. "On Halloween of '81, the terrorist, a man by the name of Tom Riddle, murdered Harry's parents in their home, and then rather mysteriously disappeared."

"Disappeared?" John deadpanned.

"Yep," she answered matter-of-factly. "Poof. Just vanished, until June 24th of 'ninety-five, when he returned."

"Just, returned?" _What in the hell is this nonsense?_

"John," Elizabeth sighed, "the whole thing makes a lot more sense when you have the details I'm leaving out, and even I don't have the _full_ story." She paused for a moment before continuing. "After he returned he had a bit of an unhealthy fascination with the Captain, and was apparently rather bent on killing him." John blinked rather disbelievingly and nodded for her to move on. "Over the next two years Riddle made two obvious attempts on his life and apparently, nearly a dozen more that went unnoticed until later."

"So creepy disappearing terrorist has a supremely unhealthy fascination with a minor." John thought he summed up the majority of the story so far rather nicely. Elizabeth's weird look told him she didn't quite approve but thought his analysis funny, anyway.

"Basically, yes." Elizabeth shook her head as if to dispel some image. "Anyway, in the process, a great many people around and close to Harry were killed. Now as for how Daphne fits into this ... Riddle forced Daphne to work for him by holding her little sister hostage, and apparently, Daphne's parents were entirely complicit with the whole thing."

_Well at least my XO isn't absolutely insane. _"So Potter has his ... reasons." _Then again ..._ "And that huge wolf?"

"Ye coods caa th' beastie an auld mukker ay th' puir laddie." Carson answered.

"Christ, Carson, tone down the accent a little bit, will ya?" The Scottish CMO sent an affronted look back at John. "And I thought we had a ban on pets?"

"_Special circumstances_." Elizabeth answered with a sigh, John simply grunted in acknowledgement.

The trio sat quietly for a few minutes eyeing their cups, only the constant hum of the ship and the hiss and burble of the coffee maker breaking the silence.

John slid his chair back and stood to return to bed only for another long mournful howl to break the silence. He plopped back into his chair with a sigh and looked up at a slightly bewildered Carson. "Ah guess it takes a wee bit mair." Carson sheepishly answered John's unasked question.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please feel free to message me with questions on this or any idea.


	2. Naruto: Awahana

**A/N:** This is a Naruto piece that takes a a spin on the old SI and reincarnation themes. For one, I (your wonderful author) am a decidedly heterosexual male. I wanted to write a SI in the narutoverse but nothing that had been done before. So I decided to take a very, _very_, weird take on it. So far I have had some writing the character's _self_rationalization of the actions she was supposed to take. You can spot one of the most questionable down below. I also had some issues with the character's identity of herself that I was having trouble writing. Ironically enough it was the very problems the character was supposed to have that I had such a hard time writing.

What you'll see below is a few disjointed scenes that would have eventually become some of the major milestones in the story. The first scene with Jiraya would likely not have been much more than what you see.

Most importantly, however, remember that the main character received the memories of her past life at the ages she would have gained them in her first life. She also only received memories that could have been easily recalled at the moment of death. The original life also had no knowledge of Naruto.

* * *

><p><em>Metempsychosis: 'Transmigration of the soul.'<em>

* * *

><p>Reincarnation isn't quite what most people want to believe.<p>

It isn't a matter of passing on one day and then waking up the next in an infantile body ready to get back to life. It isn't so simple as returning from the dead. A _new_ life has been given by whatever powers exist in this world; it has to actually be _lived_.

The old Celts believed that it is the souls of men that are reborn; the very being, the essence of who and what, that returns. The mind, the memories, the attachments, the loves, and the losses; none of it returns with the soul.

It's funny, then, that according to my own beliefs I'm an anomaly.

I was four when I received the first of my memories. It was the memory of my four year old self, oddly enough. It was just a flash, an image; the sort of thing a four year old would remember really, and just like any memory a four year old has it took its hazy place next to all my other hazy four year old memories. As if I had actually experienced it. As if I knew who, what, and where I was in that memory.

That was the sorry state of all of my 'additional' memories. Big events, poignant moments, innocuous little things, all of them dissociated and shifted into _unreality_. It wasn't really a _life_. It was more of a broken record, a poorly done slideshow.

But I can still feel them. Losing his/my virginity. The birth of a son, then a daughter. The death of his/my mother. These feelings for events that never really happened, for people I never really lost nor even had in the first place, they have colored me.

Yesterday I remembered his/my death.

According to old Marcus Aurelius, '_Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.' _After remembering my own death, I am one of the few with the authority to say this is true. After thirty one years it is somewhat of a relief to finally see the end of the tale, though at the same time it rather depressing that he/I died at the _ripe old age_ of thirty five in my past life. It is rather ironic then, that my own existence once again shows the folly of my own beliefs.

Some might argue that I should chronicle my past life, indeed some have, and no doubt with the end of the _tale_ their arguments will be more valid. After all, his/my experiences could have value, _especially_ in the world we live in.

If that is what you think this is, you're barking up the wrong tree. I was asked, once, to write these memories down. I refused, and I still refuse, mostly.

No, this is the chronicle of _my_ own life, which, in my opinion in extraordinary in and of itself.

_He_ was Major Benjamin David Papermaster; father, husband, son.

_I_ am Elite Jōnin Namikaze Awahana; aunt, sister, widow.

* * *

><p>"Damn, yer parents must have been fucking like rabbits!" The raucous voice of my new sensei boomed from the edge of the training fields.<p>

I sighed slightly and looked up to watch my brother, which is quite coincidentally how I missed our new sensei's own frown, as Minato predictably flinched rather violently at Jiraya-sensei's voice, and then bristled at the snickering and yipping of our teammate and his pair of ninken. It wasn't that he was ashamed of our parents, indeed most military couples 'fuck like rabbits.' After all, death is a ninja's constant companion. No, Minato's issue was me, or rather more specifically, my presence, and what it made people think.

I was his 'ickle baby sister' and as the little one, I should by default be behind him. But I wasn't. We did equally well on the academy exams, our sensei's had high praise for the both of us, and we both graduated from the academy together. Funnily enough, it wasn't even this that he had problems with. _He_ could have graduated early, genius that he was, but he didn't. He stayed back for me; so that the pair of us wouldn't be separated.

No, as I said, it was what people inferred from my presence that bothered him. People thought, and quite correctly, that if he were a _real_ genius, he would have graduated and been well on his way to greatness, especially with war looming on the horizon. But the fact that he _hadn't_ graduated, and that _I_, his little sister with a chakra disability, achieved equal results, had reflected horribly on Minato, even if his own aptitude tests, skill reviews, and psych evals had quite conclusively proven his ranking among Konoha's vaunted geniuses.

I sighed as our new sensei continued to dig a hole for himself. "Any closer and ya woulda' been twins!" I looked up as a disgusting little giggle came from our white haired sensei. "Do ... do you think ..." The man lapsed off into giggles with a disgustingly lecherous dreamy gaze. It was only after I caught the words 'pregnant' and 'chick,' that I realized the horrifyingly perverted turn my new sensei's thoughts had taken.

Let it never be said that the wrath of any eleven year old girl is something to ignore. This is especially true when said girl is a ninja with exemplary chakra control for her age. "Augh!" I shot forward, my nearly silvery white ponytail slapping against my short, dark blue yukata, which itself was tightly pulled against a mesh bodysuit. I grabbed Jiraya-sensei's short, snow white beard and pulled his face along with my leap until I shoved it into the ground. As he hit I threw two quick punches at the exposed back of his skull before his placating hand, waving in surrender, stopped me.

"Alright, alright, hime, alright!" He mumbled as he sat up, simultaneously rubbing his beard and the back of his hand. As I turned away to walk back to where my brother and new teammate were seated I grinned as I heard his last few grumbled words. "Almost as bad as Tsunade ... aw hell."

He observed the three of us for a minute or two from his seat on the dusty ground while he tenderly rubbed his head. What he said next and the veiled praise he delivered for my brother permanently cemented Jiraya as one of my favorite people in the world. "So ... Team Seven -" his voice was deep and firm, the carefree tone was gone but for a tinge of sarcasm, "a trio of mutts, an overprotective brother, and our fiery little hime over here." He chuckled at my slight grimace over his new nickname for me. "You all look like scrawny little gaki's, so we've got some work to do. But first," Jiraya-sensei smiled teasingly, "you're not actually shinobi yet."

* * *

><p>Konoha; bright, lively, <em>green<em>.

Awahana stood in the middle of the road just before the monstrous old gates. A strong breeze wafted past and over the crowd. It tugged at her long, silvery ponytail and midnight blue, sleeveless haori, causing the white flames along the bottom edge to ripple as it smacked against her knee high sandals, dark blue pants and white turtleneck. When last she'd left, the great gates had been closed, had been _kept_ closed. Now ... now she watched as dozens of people flowed by headed to business, or a Jōnin and his genin embarking on a mission, and there, a foreign nin leaving of his own free will. Konoha was changed.

It was good.

She noticed the gate guards eyeing her suspiciously and she glanced down at Sokomaru as the massively oversized akita gave an exasperated huff. "Fine, fine, Soko, I'll go check in. Don't want to give the old fucker a heart attack by popping into his office." The slightly chuffing laugh followed her as she walked over to the pair of Chūnin.

One of the pair held out a small clipboard and form. "Morning, ma'am. Name, rank, and country of origin, please."

Awa stepped back in surprise. _They don't recognize me._ She turned slightly and rose a questioning eyebrow at Soko, and the ninken gave a low bark in return. _Well I suppose it has been ten years. Might as well have some fun with them._ "Are you sure you don't recognize me, boys?"

The pair glanced at each other before taking a moment longer to study her before replying in the negative.

* * *

><p>She remembered a similar moment. Not in <em>her<em> life but in his/her life. Stepping off the plane to see his/her kids, grown, _changed_ after nearly a year. She/he recognized them, could have picked them out in a crowd of hundreds, even, but she/he didn't know them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Awahana is a bit of a conjugal name. It means pale flower, though could be taken to mean foam flower. The words for pale flower in Japanese are awai hana.  
>The nindog was literally named 'there full circle' its companion you see in the scene with Jiraya was to be named Kokomaru 'here full circle'. Just staying with the tradition of terrible naming.<p> 


End file.
